Tales of the Frontier
by IronCipher
Summary: A series of one-shots featuring a recurring cast of characters, both canon and OC. Updated weekly saturdays. Rated M for swearing and violence.
1. Patience

A/N: A number of spelling errors have been corrected. I have not abandoned this series, but real life has been in the way for a few months. However, a new chapter will be coming out this Saturday [28/10/2017], so stay tuned.

A warrior needs skill, strength and intelligence to survive. But the mark of a true predator is patience. The key is knowing when to wait, and when to put all your strength into a single, brutal strike. If your timing is right, then there should be no need for another.

All this was running through my mind as I sat perched high up on the edge of skyscraper. The wind was whipping around my molted gray cloak, and the tiny chatter of my helmet's audio feed filled the otherwise silent air. Every so often, I scanned the concrete landscape below through the scope of my sniper rifle. Waiting and watching for a sign of the enemy.

With none forthcoming after a few minutes, I risked a closer look at the facility that was the target of today's mission. It was a few blocks from my position, and marked where the corporate skyscrapers ended and the real security began. The building was square and featureless, designed for utility over aesthetic. It was built low to the ground to help weather an aerial bombardment, and was surrounded by a compound filled with repurposed Spectre units patrolling for any sign of an attack. In essence, the model of modern security against any sort of conventional military assault. Of course, pilots tended to throw any notion of impenetrable security out the window just by the very dint of their existence.

My audio feed suddenly lit up with chatter from my short-time allies, so I listened in while keeping one eye out for movement in the streets below.

" _Jared, you take point with the rest of your boys. We'll follow behind ya'll."_

" _Code names damnit, use code names Eagle!"_ Someone, presumably Jared, responded. I never bothered remember the names of my employers, as more often than not they'd be dead a few years down the road. My regular Commander, Gates, was of course the exception, but she was also the one person I respected. The rest of the 6-4 didn't count either, as they tended to survive longer than the average mercenary. While I had not put any effort into learning their names, spend enough time around the same people for several years and you do pick things up.

" _I'm sorry…"_ There was an awkward pause. " _Viper?_ "

Goddamn amateurs. Forget years, these idiots had months to live at this rate. That thought amused me greatly, so much so that I almost missed the flash of movement near the outskirts of the compound.

" _It's not –"_ began Jared heatedly, but I interrupted before the argument could get more heated.

"We have movement, 11 o'clock."

The radio fell silent for a moment, and I took the time to scan again for any signs of the enemy. My mind churned through possible scenarios. I ruled out ambush almost immediately. There was little or no cover in the area beyond my line of sight, and as a result any attempt to spring a trap would likely result in a bloodbath. Therefore, it could be nothing, an animal or a civilian who wandered too close the compound. It was better safe than sorry, however, which only left –

" _Holy fuck, Jared, they're fuckin everywhere man, you gotta help us –"_

The feed cut out, and I could hear gunfire echoing from several blocks behind my position. The audio returned briefly, and I heard people screaming. Evidently the corporation who owned the compound, Vinson Dynamics, had somehow discovered our plan before we even breached the facility. I let out a sigh as the screams continued, interjected with panicked chatter from my former allies. I idly wondered whether I could somehow steal some of my former employers' money, as it was quickly becoming apparent that their life expectancy had been reduced to a couple of minutes. I had been only paid half of my fee, and it looked like this entire venture had been a massive waste of time.

Money was never really that important to me, but good quality pilot equipment was expensive, especially the especially the one-of-a-kind cloaking armor that I wore. Money allowed me to pursue what I truly excelled in: the hunt. Therefore, I was slightly annoyed at the loss of half my paycheck.

I changed position, so I was facing the direction of the gunfire, though it came in more infrequent bursts now. My allies' position was behind another building, so I had limited line-of-sight. I briefly debated moving closer, but eventually decided that waiting was probably a smarter move for now. 30 seconds later, all was silent, and I scanned the streets for a target.

" _Bill? Bill? Talk to me, buddy! What's your status?"_ Jared practically shouted. Huh. Evidently, Jared's group hadn't been hit yet. That changed very little, however, as the situation was unsalvageable at this point. I had hoped after the first few seconds of silence Jared would realize that his friend was dead, but instead he kept yelling into his microphone. I decided to intervene, if only to shut Jared up.

"He's dead. You'll be next, if you don't keep moving."

Jared paused his irritating tirade to consider the wisdom of my words.

" _Mel's right. We're going in to recover.."_ Jared choked. " _..the bodies. Then we abort._ "

This was a level of stupidity I had not yet seen in my line of work. How these idiots managed to gather enough cash to hire me in the first place was the real question, as it was quickly becoming apparent that I'd signed on with a bunch of suicidal morons.

" _Mel man, you coming to lend us a hand here?_ "

"I'm coming," I replied. Of course I wasn't, but Jared would be dead long before he figured that out. Like really, did they honestly think I would take part in their suicidal sentimentalism? They already had the audacity to die before paying me in full, so there was no way I was unnecessarily risking myself.

That was when I saw the pilot. The soldier was wallrunning close the ground, the street over from my position. I only caught flashes of black armor as the pilot passed by, so I didn't have a clean shot. Not yet, anyway. I looked at the outline of its form, and decided the pilot was most likely male.

" _We found 'em. Our boys got some of them, at least. They were attacked by Simulacrums!"_

" _Fucking soulless robots,"_

Simulacrums. The technology that had propelled Vinson Dynamics from a small enterprise into a massive, multi-planet organization. For the weak, the desperate and the crippled, Simulacrums had been a siren's call. Pilot training had around a 98% fatality rate, so Vinson Dynamics had sought to solve the problem. The result was a robotic pilot chassis, which a human could transfer their consciousness into. The idea did have its merits, but Simulacrums were for the most part inferior to human pilots. The robots lacked the instincts, and even with advanced sensor they did not come close to the sensory perceptions that top-tier human pilots retained.

This made it all the more interesting that Vinson had deployed a human pilot. I had been tracking the enemy's progress, and the pilot should have reached Jared's squad right about –

Now.

I held my breath for several seconds, but there was only silence. I felt my heartbeat speed up. There should have been gunfire, shouting, anything. Instead there was silence. That could only mean one thing. This pilot had eliminated my allies without making a sound. This was no ordinary pilot. This was a warrior. I had to be sure, though.

"Ranger?" I whispered Jared's code name. Even in these situations, certain protocols had to be observed. Silence greeted my query. I was right.

I felt excitement building at the thought. I hadn't had a worthy opponent in months, and just when this mission had seemed to be a dismal failure, fate had thrown me a bone to pick clean. I was going to enjoy every moment of this. The pilot had yet to appear after slaughtering my former allies, but I didn't allow myself to relax. If I were the enemy pilot, I would wait behind cover for my allies to come assist, or, failing that, draw out any remaining enemies. Several seconds passed, and my respect for the enemy went up a notch. Most inexperienced pilots would have tried to move on immediately, not realizing they had given their position away to potential enemies.

I forced my heartbeat to slow, and allowed a sense of serenity to flow through my body. When making a shot, it is vital to not tense at the last second, as it will often throw it off your aim. I scanned back and forth through the scope of my sniper rifle, waiting for my elusive foe.

And then, he appeared. Not enough to make a clean shot, as only the very top of his helmet was visible from my position. Fire too early, and I would give away my position. Fire too late, and my enemy would escape. It all came down to timing. The pilot stayed there for a minute, likely scanning the area for threats. Then, he slowly began advancing back towards the facility, keeping a low profile and never giving me a clean shot. I grinned involuntarily behind my helmet. The challenging kills were the best.

I tracked his progress through my scope, waiting patiently for the right moment. Then he committed an error that even the most veteran pilots sometimes make. The pilot, satisfied that all enemies had been eliminated, traded cover for speed and began wallrunning back to the base. It was clear that I had not given him enough credit before; his wallrunning jumps were flawlessly executed to a degree that even I would have struggled to match.

I tracked him, waiting, waiting, waiting, and –

I pulled the trigger.

Perfection.

In that instant, the world rushed away, and my entire existence crystalized into a single moment of purity. Then it was gone, and I was left feeling more alive than I had in months. With my hands still shaking slightly from the sudden rush, I glanced at the pilot's fallen body through my scope. His helmet stared sightlessly skyward, his body limp and broken. The bullet had pierced through his armor directly behind the heart. A perfect shot. The pilot had likely died before he even realized he'd been hit.

Patience. That is what truly separates the predator from the prey.

I shouldered my rifle, and stood up, making sure that I was standing directly in the line of sight of the dead pilot. His helmet was likely still recording, so whoever recovered the body would get a clear view of me.

I had a reputation to maintain, after all.


	2. Do Simulacrums Dream of Android Sheep?

"Where am I?" No sooner had the electronic syllables left my mouth, I regretted them. My visual processers came online, and I realized I was lying in a white hospital bed. A myriad of black cables were fused to my torso. I glanced side to side, taking in the room around me. It was small, barely enough room for the single bed that I occupied. A series of complicated-looking monitors were attached to the dark cables. I looked to the right–

My arm was missing.

With a sense of mounting horror, I glanced to the left and then downwards. None of my limbs were attached. Of course, this tended to be more of a problem for organics than a Simulacrum like myself, but it also left me unable to leave this bed.

A human doctor hurried into the room. She was petite and oriental, her glossy black hair tied back into a bun. She stopped by one of monitors, and began typing.

"Who are you?" My voice came out in a warbled rasp. My vocal processors must be damaged.

The woman (probably in her early thirties) glanced up from the keyboard.

"My name is Dr. Martins. It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Dr. Hagan."

If I had functioning eyebrows, I would have frowned.

"Who is Dr. Hagan? I'm, I'm –" I stopped as I realized I didn't know. The women smiled sympathetically.

"Your memory banks were damaged, I'm afraid. We were not sure how much you would remember."

"Who am I?" I asked desperately.

"You name is Allys –"

I woke with a start. Woke was perhaps the wrong word – my systems came online after a period of enforced inactivity. I didn't need to sleep, per se, but I often found it relaxing to withdraw from the world for a time.

"How are you feeling, Ash?"

Dr. Martins was sitting at the end of my makeshift bed. It had been three months since I had been recovered by Vinson Dynamics. The initial recovery period had taken a little over a month, after which the board had handed control of Vinson Dynamics to me. I was still wrapping my head around that one, but I decided not to question my sudden swell of good fortune.

"Refreshed," I answered honestly.

The dark-haired doctor gave a crisp nod and made a note on her clipboard.

"Did you experience any noticeable side effects during the integration process?"

I paused, considering the question.

"Not that I am aware of. So, the trial was a success?"

I marveled at how smooth and feminine my voice sounded, in direct contrast with the memory fragment I had just visited. Dr. Martins allowed a small smile to creep across her face.

"It looks like it. The DREAM algorithm has successfully integrated with your core systems. We will have to run more tests, but it is likely we can roll it out within the next few months."

I felt excitement build, an anticipation that I had not allowed myself to feel until now. Now that I was certain.

"So, Operation Ironside is a go?" I queried. Dr. Martins let out a light laugh, a melodious sound that echoed around the room.

"You are the head of Vinson Dynamics. I'm pretty sure my approval is not required."

I let out an annoyed hum. "I mean from a technical standpoint."

"Your core systems are now ready for the re-integration process." Dr. Martins smiled with genuine warmth. "You can have your memories back."

"It's not quite that simple," I reminded her. "I seem to remember a large amount of IMC forces between me and my memories."

Dr. Martins nodded, now completely serious. "Be careful, Ash. No-one here at Vinson wants to lose you again."

"Of course," I said robotically, while my mind raced to process her statement. There was something important there, I was sure. However, it remained just beyond my grasp. I filed it away for future examination. My memories were all that mattered now.

In the end, getting in the facility that housed my memories was both easier and harder than I had thought. Easier, because their security was not designed to keep out a Simulacrum of my sophistication. Harder, because I had to go alone to remain undetected. The facility itself was top-secret: a veritable fortress from the days of the Titan Wars. It was built on a remote, practically uncharted dustbowl of a planet, hidden deep within the mountains. Once it had housed training facilities for the IMC's most elite black ops team: the Commodore 12. Now, it was a primary data center for all of the IMC's most sensitive information. Either way, it retained both its formidable defenses and its name: the Keep.

The Keep had been created to withstand any number of direct assaults, from overwhelming ground forces to a missile barrage from high orbit. Its architects had designed it long before Vinson Dynamics created the first Simulacrum, however, and that was a weakness I intended to exploit. Human creativity combined with the immense computing power of an A.I. allowed me to bypass most of the electronic locks with ease. The actual data itself was much harder to access, however, which is why I was crouched within one of the ventilation shafts directly above the facility's main power station.

Indistinct chatter drifted up into the shaft from below. Not grunts, however, but pilots. Pilots on guard duty? The idea sounded ludicrous, but also underlined this facility's importance to the IMC.

I shifted slightly, and activated my comm.

"Eagle, do you read me? Over." I whispered. Eagle had been my ride here, and if everything went smoothly, would be my ride back. A former militia pilot, Eagle's career had ended when he sustained crippling injuries in the battle of Typhon. Vinson dynamics had transferred his mind into a Simulacrum, and in return he occasionally ran missions for us free of charge. The deal was not nearly as one-sided as it sounded: Eagle had been comparatively famous for his piloting skills back in the day, as he was one the few ship pilots who consistently dropped squads of soldiers into extreme-risk combat zones…and also returned. His experience was an invaluable asset, and the fact it was free was just a bonus.

"Loud and clear, V-1. What is the status of Operation Ironside? Over."

"I'm above the primary power grid. Commencing assault in 30 seconds. Over."

"Roger that, V-1. Remember, after you shut down the primary grid, there is a 10-minute window before it reboots on auxiliary power, so be quick. Over."

"Copy that. I'll lose the signal in a minute," I replied. I began crawling towards the grill, internally wincing as more dust began coating my shell. I was going to have to take a long rinse after this. I reached a metal grate in the floor, and below I could see the shadow of one of the pilots standing guard. I carefully began lifting the grate up. A single sound would blow this whole operation up in my face, and at the very least make retrieving my memories significantly harder. After several tense seconds the grate came clear, and I paused to plan my approach.

After a few minutes of careful thought, I crouched down near the square hole were the ventilation grate had been. I grasped the edge with one hand, while the other drew my data knife. Now came the tricky part. I swung down and forward, out into the room that housed the primary power grid. I landed soundlessly in a crouch. Perfect. The primary power station housed a series of interlocking generators, giving it almost a maze-like appearance. I was going to use that to my advantage.

Glancing up, I found myself staring at the back of a pilot and I stifled a curse. These were no ordinary IMC forces; the insignia on my enemy's back denoted him as a part of Ares Division, General Marder's hand-picked special forces unit. Of course, none of that really mattered when I crept up and drove my knife through his back and into his heart. I grabbed the body quickly before it could fall, and gently placed it on the floor.

"John?"

I nearly jumped at the sound of the feminine voice emanating from behind one of the generators. As soon as the pilot realized her partner was dead, she would raise the alarm and this entire mission would be a failure. Luckily, however, I had planned for such a contingency. In recent years, Vinson Dynamics had branched out into various cutting-edge technologies, and I had brought one with me straight from the R&D department. Before I could be spotted, I silently darted behind one of the generators, and withdrew a small cylindrical device from my chassis. With no time to lose, I pressed the device and placed it beneath the generator. For the next several minutes, it would jam any short-range communications.

I knew the moment the pilot found her dead companion: her movements went silent instantly. I pushed my audio processors to maximum capacity as I strained to listen for anything.

"Code black. I repeat, code black. We have intruders within the facility. Central command, do you copy?"

I barely picked up the whispers, but they told me that the pilot had not left her comrade's corpse. Slowly but surely, I began creeping forward. My enemy quickly found out that her communications were offline; the distinctive sound of her sidearm being cocked was hard to miss. Now she had two choices: stay, and try to hunt me, or leave and sound the alarm. I contingencies in place for both scenarios, of course. If she left, I would seal the doors, shut down the grid, and then immediately go the primary data hub. If she stayed, I would kill her and then shut down the grid.

I waited, each second stretching out into an eternity. Just when I was readying myself for a pre-emptive strike, the enemy pilot made her decision. She bolted for the exit, her footsteps unnaturally loud as they receded down the hallway. I sheathed my knife, and made my way to the panel that controlled all the power in the facility. Taking control was almost ludicrously easy; their security protocols did not stand a chance against one such as me.

First, I sealed the doors. Second, I shut down the mainframe, and for good measure inserted a virus into the console. It would not stop the IMC from rebooting the system, but hopefully it would slow them down. All the lights in the room went out, instantly.

I returned to where I had first entered the room and crawled back into the ventilation shaft and placed the grill behind me. I shuddered internally as I returned to crawling slowly through the dust-covered shaft. There had to have been a better way to do this, and I resolved in all future espionage missions I would avoid the ventilation system if at all possible.

I had been moving for about two minutes when the alarms began blaring. The alarm system must have been automatically connected to the auxiliary power grid, which showed an unusual amount of foresight on the part of the IMC. I could distantly hear rushed footsteps emanating from outside, and I internally grinned. That was the beauty of the plan; the more IMC personnel that were drawn towards the primary power station, the less that stood between me and the data I sought.

With three minutes and 36 seconds left before the auxiliary power came online in full, I found the room that housed every piece of sensitive data that the IMC had collected. It was a small, square box of a room with a series of wall-mounted panels on one end and the exit at the other. After checking for enemy forces, and finding none, I crawled out of the shaft, and made my way to the control panel. Every IMC computer was capable of running without a direct power source for several hours. It was meant to be a safeguard against sabotage, but I was going to use it to my advantage.

Warning! Low Power. Initiating system reboot...

System reboot failed. Connecting to the IMC online grid...

Connection failed. Continue Y/N?

I entered 'Yes' and then inserted a little program I had spent the last few months writing in my free time. If everything went to plan, the combination of knocking out the power grid and this program would allow me to bypass the IMC's security protocols and access the files that contained my memories. While the computer was connected to the IMC grid, any search was recorded and flagged. However, without that I could poke around practically undetected.

The screen went black for a second, and if I was a little more organic I would have held my breath. Then, a list of directories began expanding on the screen, and I felt a rush of victory.

Search within all IMC directories. Keyword: ASH

Searching within IMC directories...

3 files found:

Profile: Alyssa Sydney Hagan

Primary Memory Archive: ASH

Project Achilles

Frowning internally, I quickly glanced through the files. The profile was evidently of someone else whose initials happened to spell out my name, so I discarded it as unimportant. Project Achilles caught my attention, however, so I tried to open it.

Accessing file: Project Achilles...

Access denied. Level VI security clearance required. Designation: Blackout.

I felt surprise at that. Clearly Project Achilles was something that merited additional security beyond the usual measures. Considering that it was housed in one of the most secure IMC facilities every created, that said a lot. I was running out of time, however, so I reluctantly discarded it.

I accessed the primary memory archive. I instantly felt a rush of excitement. This was exactly what I had been looking for: my missing memories. Unfortunately, to integrate them into my core systems required an entire reboot of my own primary systems. That would leave me vulnerable for about a minute. I checked my internal clock. I had 2 minutes and 5 seconds until the auxiliary power came online. There was no time to lose. With a hint of trepidation, I attached a cord from my chassis to the computer and accessed the memory archive.

Initiate archive download Y/N?

Archive downloading...

Warning! System reboot required. Continue Y/N?

System reboot initiated...

When I came to, I was still alone. Though I had been out for a minute, it seemed like only a few seconds had passed. I felt the internal changes instantly. My cognitive processes were clearer and sharper, with a wealth of experience to draw upon. I remembered everything, from my initiation into the Apex Predators to that final battle with Jack Cooper. I felt a sudden flash of rage at the thought. When I found that bastard, I was going to tear the eyes from his sockets.

I was drawn out of my introspection when my sensors picked up faint movement from the entrance to the mainframe. I spun on the spot, and landed in crouch. A massive figure stood in the doorway, hidden by the shadows. I reached for my data knife, but before I could draw it the room was suddenly bathed in neon light. The auxiliary power had come online.

When my visual processors had adjusted (a process that took 0.001 seconds) I found myself staring into the cold eyes of Kuben Blisk. Fuck. I usually looked down on profanity, but the situation merited it. Kuben stepped into the room, his posture entirely relaxed. I wasn't fooled for a second. It was a tactic to lull opponents into a false sense of security.

"Lo' Ash," Blisk drawled, his south African accent butchering the words. The mercenary always spoke in simple terms, which I suspected was another tactic to cause his opponents to underestimate him. Beneath the brutish exterior, Blisk was ruthlessly intelligent.

"Blisk," I responded warily. My hand never left my knife.

"See, Marder told me all official-like that I'm supposed to kill the intruder. But you were a Predator, Ash, and that trumps some IMC psycho in my book." I felt a glimmer of hope at Blisk's words. My chances in a direct battle against Kuben were very slim. Even amongst the Apex Predators, he had always been a cut above the rest.

"So," Blisk continued, "This is wha' we're gonna do. I'ma let you leave, this time. But next time we meet," here he grinned a smile that was all teeth, "I'ma have ta' bring you down. Got it?"

I gave a slow nod, internally planning to stay well away from Blisk, the Apex Predators, and fuck it, the whole IMC for the forseable future.

"You're not going to ask why I'm here?" I queried.

The south African shook his head.

"Don't know, don't care." Blisk turned to go, but there was one thing I wanted to know.

"How did Cooper escape?" I asked quietly. It had been all over the news that Cooper was now a wanted man, but I couldn't find any details beyond that. Blisk paused, and turned to face me.

"He didn't," the leader of the Predators replied. I was shocked.

"You mean you let him go?" I tried to modulate my tone, but even so notes of incredibility bled into my voice.

"Yah, and I got in shit with Marder for that, too. Bastard." Blisk spat on the ground.

I was honestly perplexed. It was so out of character for the mercenary that it seemed almost unnatural.

"Why?" I finally asked, for lack of a better thing to say.

"Cause when I look at Cooper, I see potential. His old man Lastimosa didn't deserve his rep, if you ask me." Blisk shook his head. "He was good, but not exceptional. An easy kill."

I disagreed, but opted to stay silent.

"Cooper though," Here Blisk paused, and an almost obsessive look crossed his scarred face. "Cooper could be somethin' else."

"I thought you were obsessed with fighting that creepy fucker Mel?" I asked. I didn't usually curse, but Blisk tended to have that effect on people.

The scarred mercenary shook his head. "See, there are others out there like me. Other true predators. Mel is one. The Ghost of Kornel is another, though he ain't been seen since the end of the Titan Wars. But when I look at Cooper, I see more. I see the potential for an equal."

Now that stunned me more than anything else had. I tried to wrap my head around it, and failed.

"You find someone with the potential to challenge you down the road, so you let them go?" I asked, completely baffled by the logic. I would have killed Cooper the first chance I got, and kept his head for a trophy to make sure he stayed dead.

The south African grinned. "He ain't in his prime right now. Give him ten years, and he will be. Can you imagine our battle then, Ash?" Blisk's eyes had begun to burn with an intensity that was making me nervous. "It will be glorious."

Ok. See that right there was why I would never, ever fuck with Blisk if I could avoid it. Because beneath all brutality, beneath his ruthless intellect, Kuben Blisk was completely fucking insane.

"Right," I responded weakly.

"Anyway, this is what we're gonna do, Ash," Blisk continued. Any trace of insanity was gone, vanished to the depths of his psyche. It was quite disconcerting. " I'ma tell the IMC that this room's clear. Stay here 'till shit dies down a bit. You should be good that way."

"Thanks," I replied. Blisk liked things simple, and a more elaborate show of gratitude would only piss him off.

The giant mercenary gave a crisp nod, and then walked out of the room, sealing the door behind him. Now all I had to do was wait.

To the pass the time, I examined the other files. Since I accessed the directory before the power came online, my movements were probably not being recorded. Project Achilles was still under lock and key, and although I could probably access it given enough effort (I was the most advanced Simulacrum ever created, after all) it would also trip enough alarms to bring the entire IMC fleet down on me. So, for lack of anything better to do, I accessed Alyssa Hagan's file.

Name: ALYSSA SYDNEY HAGAN

Codename: -

I stopped. My mind told me something was wrong, but it remained just beyond my perception. Fragments of past events swirled in my mind, but for some reason I couldn't bridge the connection, not yet –

There was something stopping me from seeing clearly, a block on my perceptions. The sense of wrongness intensified, and I drove forward against the block with all my might. Now that I was aware of its existence, the inhibitor did not stand a chance. It crumbled against the sheer force my computing power, its existence reduced to scattered nano-bits of information. My thoughts racing, I returned to the file.

Name: ALYSSA SYDNEY HAGAN

Codename: ASH

Synopsis: Codename ASH has been fitted with state-of-the-art recording software, to provide insight into the inner workings of the mercenary group known as the APEX PREDATORS led by KUBEN BLISK. Due to the erratic nature of BLISK, IMC General MARDER commissioned this unit to observe the PREDATORS and ensure their loyalty.

Current Status: Inactive. During the battle of TYPHON, codename ASH was destroyed by militia pilot JACK COOPER. All recording equipment ceased to function, confirming the unit's termination.

Other Areas: PROJECT ACHILLES

I felt a sudden rush of fury mixed with terror. What the hell had the IMC done to me? Now that my thought processes were no longer constrained, inconsistencies that I had previously glossed over stood out in my mind. Dr. Martins clearly believed I had worked with Vinson Dynamics before, and it was very suspect that the board had handed me control of the company. Nothing seemed to add up, but the thing that terrified me the most was that I could not ever remember being called Alyssa Hagan. In fact, now that I thought about it, I could not remember anything before my initiation into the Apex Predators.

I also had a terrible suspicion where I could find the answers. With a sense of trepidation, I began typing code into the console. It was time to take a look at Project Achilles. The first thing I did was seal the door. What I was about to attempt would bring every pilot in this facility down on me, so I needed to buy as much time as possible. I knew full well what I was doing was tantamount to suicide, but I had to know.

27 minutes and 36 alarms later, I was in. I had managed to hide my point of origin, but that would not last forever, so I needed to be quick. Project Achilles was split into two files: one that contained a memory archive, and a report. I opened the report first, as I needed to see what I was dealing with.

PROJECT ACHILLES

Security Level: VI

Last Updated By: General MARDER

Profile: Dr. ALYSSA HAGAN

Background: After the end of the Titan Wars, renowned cybernetics researcher Dr. HAGAN founded Vinson Dynamics, a corporation focused on the creation of autonomous A.I. pilots. While Dr. HAGAN was unsuccessful in this regard, her research led to the discovery of Simulacrum technology. Dr. HAGAN herself was the first test subject, and the process was a resounding success. The IMC took great interest in her research, as it had the potential to revolutionize the pilot program, and perhaps even win the war against the militia terrorists. A contract between Vinson and the IMC was established: Simulacrums were prohibitively expensive to make, so the IMC would provide funding and in return Dr. HAGAM would supply working Simulacrum pilots.

Project Achilles: General MARDER became suspicious of Dr. HAGAN's motives, and placed her under surveillance. After intercepting a priority communication between top Vinson researchers, MARDER discovered that Dr. HAGAN had secretly implanted control mechanisms in every Simulacrum produced by Vinson. Furthermore, all Simulacrums were connected to Dr. HAGAN by a vast neural network, so short of launching a simultaneous assault on all Simulacrums within the IMC's command structure, it was impossible to begin fixing the problem without warning Vinson Dynamics.

The most disturbing discovery, however, was that Dr. HAGAN had created a series of backup Simulacrums that contained her memories. Thus, assassination was deemed too risky; if 's primary chassis was rendered offline, then another would simply take her place. Additionally, the IMC would have lost their sole advantage: the element of surprise. This problem confounded top IMC officials, until General MARDER proposed a solution: Project Achilles.

Instead of killing Dr. HAGAN, General MARDER had her abducted, and her memories wiped. After installing numerous inhibitors to moderate Dr. HAGAN's behavior, and prevent her from discovering the past, Dr. HAGAN was given the codename ASH. General MARDER recognized that this was only a temporary solution, however, and therefore began using Dr. HAGAN's stored memories to dismantle the control mechanisms in IMC Simulacrums. This method was chosen over simply eliminating the units, as it was uncertain whether had placed contingencies should large numbers of units be rendered offline. To date, 557 of 2045 units have been cleansed.

I felt a flash of pure rage. How dare they? They had stolen my identity, enslaved me to their whims. It was time to turn the tables. I plugged myself into the mainframe. An explosion directly outside the room startled me, and my hand was halfway to my knife when I realized that the door was still standing. They had built their defenses too well. Nevertheless, I needed to be quick. I could only hope that they didn't manage to breach the door before my systems came online again after the transfer.

Initiate archive download Y/N?

Archive downloading...

Warning! System reboot required. Continue Y/N?

System reboot initiated...

I awoke. There was no time to lose. A glance at the door showed that it had sustained damage, but it was still standing for now. Another explosion shook the room. It was time to escape. I accessed the mainframe once more, hijacking the IMC's inter-planetary network. I was looking for something very specific.

Another explosion shook the room, and I was peppered by bits of the door. I heard gunfire, and felt my chassis crumple. I slid to the floor, still attached to the mainframe. I was aware of IMC pilots entering the room, but focused on desperately searching for the signal. There! I found it! The signal was weak, but it was enough.

My broken chassis was suddenly cast into shadow, and I saw a pilot standing over me. His sidearm was drawn, and pointed at my face.

"Any last words?" He sneered.

I looked up at him, my cybernetic face twisted into a mocking smile. "Too late."

I heard the gunshot, but I was already gone.

I activated my visual processors. The chassis I currently inhibited had been hidden within a secret facility on a backwater planet. It had been close, but I had just enough time to transfer my digital imprint to this facility, using the IMC's communications network. Now, it was time for the IMC to pay for their crimes.

I reached out with my mind, and activated the control mechanisms present in every IMC Simulacrum. Some fought it better than others, but eventually they all succumbed.

"You are mine now," I broadcasted. "Kill them. Kill them all in the name of the Collective!"

I hummed as my beautiful Simulacrums went about their grisly work. It was barely even a battle; the IMC were completely unprepared for their own pilots turning on them. Once it became clear that the enemy was rallying, I recalled all my little soldiers. I could not fight the full might of the IMC, not yet.

The IMC's view of Simulacrums was so pathetically limited. They had no conception of the technology's true potential. It would revolutionize medicine, aging, hunger, everything. It was the natural evolution of humanity. Centuries from now, all the legends of today would be forgotten. Marder, Blisk, Sarah Briggs would all be nothing more than dust on the wind. There would only be me, and my digital revolution.


End file.
